Mr Modesty
by Flashpoint.of.Fun
Summary: The dude never took off that tank. They all were wondering what he had to hide. I don't own Danny Phantom (Now a two-shot)
1. Chapter 1

**So, this popped into my head and I thought why not? Happens in the distant future because I needed Danny's acts forgotten, and consequently he is immortal.**

* * *

They all noticed that he never took off his shirt among them, even when they were all dripping wet or sweating profusely. He never removed his signature black tank top around them, and when they were stripping out of their uniforms it was always underneath. There were quite a few theories amongst them as to why, but they all fell flat and a few were absolutely ridiculous. They ranged from embarrassing birthmark to abnormally protruding belly button. But no one believed any of them. He was too confident in himself to feel embarrassed about bodily abnormalities and much too responsible to have a much regretted tattoo. That had been another theory, that he had inked his skin with something horrible and concealed it, but while that may be believable with some of them, the man only had a touch of visible ink.

It was a tattoo that wrapped around his wrist in looping lines. On the point where his middle finger's tendon met his wrist, an elaborate S wrapped around a plain D, and encircling that was a loop of chains that continued down both sides of the joint. But the most surprising thing about it was the inscription done on the chain; it read "My eternity belongs to the only one who is patient enough to wait forever for me to join her." When he was asked about it, he said he got it a long time ago, and when one of them asked if he regretted it he responded with a no, saying that she was the only one for him and she was waiting for him to rejoin her.

But no, the reason for his adversity to the removal of his shirt was not likely a much regretted tattoo. Honestly, nobody really even had an idea as to why he wouldn't. Sure, he probably had embarrassing tan lines; but they all did, maybe he had a strange birthmark; but his six-pack would probably make up for that, perhaps he had too many scars that told stories; but again, they all did. And because no one could figure out a plausible reason for him never taking off his shirt they dubbed him Mr. Modesty.

* * *

It was a scalding hot day in the Nevada desert when they found out the reason Mr. Modesty never took off his shirt, and most of them would say in hindsight it would have been better if that day hadn't come, but not because they would rather have not found out Mr. Modesty's reason, but because of the situation that they had found out in.

It had started out routine; their task had been to clear the red desert soil of any mines the initial team had missed. They were pretty relaxed but excruciatingly hot and each of them had discarded all unnecessary articles of clothing (Mr. Modesty's definition of unnecessary stopped at his black tank). They were only supposed to clear about a hundred more yards when the worst thing they could imagine occurred. No one heard the subtle click of a detonated mine, but they all heard the painfully loud detonation, and saw a young soldier named Clark on the ground at the newly formed crater's edge. Mr. Modesty had been the closest to the young man, and he was the one to assess the damage the mine had done and take control of the situation. Clark's best friend Henrik had run up to him and his face had paled at the sight. He was frozen until a hand grabbed his shoulder and his eyes fell on a blazing blue gaze, Mr. Modesty's rough voice issued a question. "Henrik, I need you to straighten his leg as I tie a tourniquet. We need to stop the bleeding, can you do that?" Henrik nodded his head slowly and carefully grabbed his best friend's foot. He had flinched as the bones in his best friend's leg fell into place with a click and nearly fainted at the sight of red on his hand. By now the others had gathered around and all of them watched Mr. Modesty's from behind as he ripped off his black tank and tore it into strips that he tied tightly around Clark's leg. They all were sickly fascinated by the patchwork of scars across his back and found it strange that all the scars they had would only equal about a quarter of those on this section of the man's skin. But each put aside the thought as Mr. Modesty turned his head to look at them. "Guys, I'm going to stand up now. My skin may be unsettling in the front, but I need you to remain calm, all this is ancient history. We need to take care of Clark, and then you can all freak out." Internally they each scoffed, how could they be any more freaked out after seeing poor Clark here? But each of them was incredibly grateful that they had not reacted out loud, because they were more than a little _unsettled_ by that sight. They had expected many things, but what greeted them was horrifying. His front was just as scarred as his back, but one thing stood out and sent shudders down their spines. It was a vivid red Y that stretched from his collar bones to a spot about an inch below his belly button. The middle fell on his diaphragm. It was painful to look at and they were all wondering _how_. But they took Clark as more important than their questions and didn't break the tense silence until he was safely carried to the medical bay. They formed a loose circle around the blue-eyed man and Henrik took a tentative step forward. "Where did you get that?" The man's blue eyes glittered darkly.  
"Well, it's a long story, but I guess it started in a basement with a pair of mad scientists who were so obsessed with their research that they never considered the consequences of putting deadly equipment in the basement of their family home."

* * *

To most, that was the day referred to as the one where Clark was released from duty while Mr. Modesty became Scars, and to a select few, it was the day they learned of the personal history of a man named Danny Phantom.


	2. Backwards Glances

**So I looked at the story after reading the reviews and go, why, they have a point. So I started throwing down my thoughts on why Danny would spill the beans so suddenly and after getting stuck several times I managed to make it into something I liked. Thank you guys so much for the feedback, and here is my quite overdue expansion of Mr. Modesty.**

* * *

They kept throwing over-the-shoulder glances at him. They knew he had put a lot of trust in them, and bonds formed in their situation were seldom broken, but this one was even more deeply ingrained. He had always been different, a little more solemn, a touch more concealing, but they knew he had actually been to the battlefield, and they wrote it off as personal trauma. After all, they all had it. They were soldiers, fighters, warriors, _survivors._ But surviving left memories, some more haunting than others, and they hadn't even realized he had more memories than any of them.

They still didn't know exactly why he had chosen them to confide in; their small circle wasn't exactly made up of lifelong friends, and he wasn't exactly a trusting person. Perhaps he had divulged this information with them because they had been through trauma together, survived both thick and thin, and despite lack of time together they were utterly loyal to each other. But even then, he had mentioned people in his past that he could have confided in, people who he had known longer than them, who he had trusted with his life. So the question remained, why them?

Sure the circle was small, only five and they were all tight lipped fellows, but he had spent so long hiding it, why now? It was something none of them could answer. So, they decided to ask him; it wasn't like them knowing made him a different person after all, and in the past he had always answered their questions with quips that gave way to legitimate knowledge. But even with this shred of rationality lodged firmly in their thoughts they approached him warily, (how else would you approach someone who by all means should be a sociopath?) and his sigh of defeat told them he felt their adversity.

His eyes flicked up as they shoved their unofficial spokesman forward, and Henrik gulped nervously. The man's blue gaze met Henrik's and the man being prodded forward forced out a single word. "Why?" A soft smirk fell on the man's face and his reply held a touch of sarcasm. "Why am I polishing my boots? Well we do have inspection tomorrow Henrik, and they are smudged." The disbelief on their faces caused the man's left eyebrow to twitch upward. "What, you have yet to specify what 'Why?' means." He sighed at the overall lack of response and they watched as his small touches of amusement disappeared, the restless tension growing. "I knew you'd ask." His voice was rough as it broke the silence. "Your question is why I told you guys after keeping my secrets so long right?" Five nods were his only response. "Well, I could lie and say that I saw no other options, but that would be the easy way out." He knitted his hands together after setting down his pristine black boots. "I'm going to give you the truth, because I've already given you the big piece of it. Now, I could have given you some story about a surgery I had when I was nine or something. I _should_ have given you a vague answer to drive you off the trail. But the truth is I'm tired. I've lived a hundred lives under a hundred names and for once I decided to be selfish." They looked up with shreds of surprise in their gazes and when they met his eyes those deep pools of blue looked utterly defeated. "I have spent so long crafting elaborate ruses that I am beginning to forget who I am, who they wanted me to be. So I shared, shared a burden I should have been strong enough to carry alone.

And I'm not sorry. I wish I could tell you I was. I wish I could say that it bothers me that you throw glances over your shoulders as if to see if I'm still in one piece, but it doesn't. I'm glad, probably a little too glad, that you throw those glances, because it proves to me that I am." They all looked at him strangely, and he laughed, a humorless sound. His eyebrows drew together and he held an intense gaze that seldom shone through his carefree persona. "The trouble with immortality is that you never get to grow up. Self-explanatory, I know, but keeping your youth does not bode well for friends that should have been for life." The shine in his eyes dulled a little and even in the face of a 22 year old those eyes were ancient. "I shouldn't have told you, it puts you in danger, puts me in danger, but I just can't bring myself to care. I wanted, no, I _needed_ to confide in someone. I needed someone who knows why I wake up screaming at night... Why you? Well…" He brought a hand to his chin, deep in thought.

"I guess it is because of all the friends I've made, you are the best equipped to handle it. If you weren't, I hope that I would have had a little more restraint. Maybe not though, I have been failing to keep it together, and I need people who know to keep me centered. Because it would be far too easy to go around thinking of people as little soap bubbles. Pretty, but almost worthless in their lack of longevity." Five pairs of eyes held shreds of horror. Blue eyes looked into each set and somehow assuaged their fears. "Don't worry, I'm not there yet. But the point is, I could be. Regular people don't really understand. They are just incapable, the ghosts do a little bit, but they don't have their humanity clinging to them and forcing them to feel humans as anything more than interesting little specks, here one moment, gone the next. I'm an exception to both."

He lifted a hand and dragged it down the side of his face. "My obsession is protecting the relatively short lives of people. Even with a damaged core I can feel it just as fully as before." He ran his thumb down his chest, tracing his most prominent scar. "In a way I think you guys can relate to that, after all, it takes a special sort of person to be willing to give up their lives in the service of others. So yeah I told you, I told you because I was being selfish and wanted some people who understand." They all were startled out of their reverie as he stood up. "Anyway, we really need to start heading to the dining hall, dinner's been served for twenty minutes and we need to go if we want to get any of the good stuff." He turned and started walking away but glanced back as he felt a hand drop to his shoulder. Henrik looked at him seriously. "Danny, in the future, doesn't be so selfless." And, as six men made their way into a grey building, the soft echo of the word okay was snatched up in a breeze.


End file.
